


Catarrh

by Heliopause Entertainments (sleepy_wrestler)



Series: Peacekeeping [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Medic Complaining, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 25, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Swearing, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, blink and you miss it - Freeform, finally getting to the end of the, implications of, oblivious Megatron, oblivious like a box of rocks, the sick bit is only the first two chapters, the tiniest lightest implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28831431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_wrestler/pseuds/Heliopause%20Entertainments
Summary: In which Megatron has an awful immune system and catches a cold.
Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: Peacekeeping [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986511
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PretzelBaron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PretzelBaron/gifts).



> Details from prior works in the series are important to understand some plot details.

**catarrh** _/kəˈtɑr/_

**Noun - Pathology.** _inflammation of a mucous membrane, especially of the respiratory tract, accompanied by excessive secretions._

  
“He’s not going to die, Rodimus.” Ratchet brusquely washed his hands at the captain, done with inspecting the other one, unwillingly sprawled out on the exam table. “Honestly, the Council probably agreed to let you take him just because it cuts out the middleman of having to release him when he survives his third execution attempt. He’s not going to die from a little digital-catarrh.”

“Are you—” There was always the chance. _There was always the chance._

“ _Look._ ” He hated whenever Ratchet said that. Rodimus was never ready for the ‘real talk’ that tended to come afterward, especially since it generally amounted to telling him he was overreacting or otherwise being an idiot. “Just make sure he doesn’t overexert himself for a few orns and his _venerable_ —” _Pot calling the kettle black much?_ “—self-repair programs will finally catch up and fix the bugged coding and destroy the infectious nanites. Velocity will decide the final recommended course of treatment as his primary care physician, but her determination will likely be more or less the same as mine.”

“How’d he even—”

“Probably from you since you go outside and roll around in _Primus-knows-what_. His self-repair systems have gotten used to slacking off since he’s not exposed to pathogens nearly as much anymore and his innards are still a complete wreck from Shockwave’s experiments. You could probably have fought off the mutated coding without even noticing. _Him_?” Ratchet threw a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the grumpy lump on the exam table. All of that would explain why he’d sniffled for all of a couple of cycles after returning from their last supply run on Cybertron. Then he just _had_ to give it to his co-captain. Who’s vulnerable. Weird, thinking of “vulnerable” and “Megatron” in the same sentence, now that he really thought about it. He had survived so many things that should have outright killed him and he stubborn-bastarded his way through them all. Now he was gonna die because of tiny, _glitchy_ nanites.

“Not quite so much. You’re the only one who regularly stands within a few feet of him, so you, _Captain_ , are probably the disease vector. _Great work_. Just try not to give him anything serious in the future. I don’t want to deal with the complaining— _Hey_!” 

Hearing with his experienced audio processors what sounded like a naughty patient attempting to sit up and make an escape, the ambulance turned on his heel with a snap. “And you, _Captain_ , lay back down!” Rodimus didn’t even have time to mutter an obligatory ‘ _co_ -captain’ under his breath. “You stay put until Velocity gets here.”

Nevermind. The stubborn fucker would be just fine.

* * *

"Stop looking at me like I'm made of glass." It was really getting on his nerves at this point. Megatron frowned up at the loudly painted coupé that had decided it was absolutely necessary to play nursemaid for someone who was clearly capable of taking care of himself. He had a cold, not damned cybercrosis. Overbearing fool. The golden hand holding his was a strange warmth, reminiscent of Soundwave remaining by his side during the many times when he’d been hospitalized, a watchful, loyal guardian.

"If you'd stop being _decrepit_ , that would help, but I don't exactly see you drinking from the fountain of youth here, dude."

"The fountain of _what_?" He tried to sit up, only for the unoccupied yellow hand to reach out, press against his badge, and earnestly push him back down. Sure, he could have resisted but it wasn't worth it. He flopped back with a grumble, thinking that he really needed to have that talk with Rodimus again about assumptions of knowledge. Or maybe not. This might still have been preferable to constantly hearing 'nevermind' whenever he asked what in the hell his co-captain was talking about. Still, there was a strange sort of glint in the shorter mech’s eyes when Megatron let him win in the ‘struggle’ to sit up. What was that all about?

"Earth thing, nevermind." _Again_. Megatron sighed. "Point is, you're a rickety old heap of junk held together by some _glue_ and _obstinacy_." Ah, yes, another day, another vocabulary word Rodimus purposefully pulled out to remind Megatron that he’s no idiot. There was really no need for it. He knew quite well that Rodimus wasn’t _stupid_. A little absent-minded and foolhardy, but certainly not outright stupid. He just had no need to say so. Right? The glare he was receiving suggested, perhaps, otherwise. He sighed. Yanking his servo free from the seemingly caring grasp, away from tempting wrists, he folded his hands idly together across his middle.

" _Rodimus_.” Chastising tended to get him nowhere, he knew, but sometimes it was a reflexive action, one he took when he couldn’t think of anything else. “This amount of fuss is unnecessary. You should return to the bridge. Ultra Magnus will be by shortly when he's off-duty to ensure my welfare. You worry too much. I’m hardly frail."

“But you _are_ —” Despite the fact that Rodimus had begun to visibly tense, the fins of his spoiler twitching in agitation, Megatron cut him off with a sharply raised palm, ignoring the obvious warning signal.

“Really, I _should_ be working, not lazing around like a damn new-build—”

“ _It’s not up to you!_ ”

He shut his mouth, optics wide in surprise. Not that Rodimus snapped at him, of course, that was a regular occurrence. The ever-present bickering was practically a staple of their… _friendship_? Yes, friendship. _Probably_. Sometimes he thought, almost always with immediate regret and shame, that perhaps he looked at his co-captain in ways that were less than _appropriate_. The surprise stemmed from having no idea what the short-tempered speedster could possibly follow that outburst with.

“ _I_ need to know you’re not fucking _dead_ , you _complete_ and _utter_ bastard!”

Was that a normal friend sentiment? Megatron had no idea. His friendships had always been strange. Ultra Magnus was _definitely_ his friend and didn’t act like that, but both he and Ultra Magnus were reserved individuals—apparently in need of 'social skills'. He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it again without any words escaping, a bit like a gaping fish struggling to respire. 

Rodimus had _already_ saved him from death on multiple occasions. Now the speedster sat there, trembling like he was resisting the urge to put servos underneath shoulder-plating and give an old mech a solid shake.

“I dunno _how_ many times we gotta go over this, Megs.” The implication being that _he_ was the oblivious idiot. That smarted but he wasn’t able to pinpoint how or why. 

When Rodimus stood and left the habsuite without another word, an odd thought occurred to Megatron, as his gaze fell upon the shelf on the opposite wall that had collected random trinkets that Rodimus had brought for him like the _gloriously_ tawdry orange magpie he was. His more volatile colleague—that word _now_ seemed wrong—was right.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm _still_ not dead." By this point, Megatron was really quite tired of Rodimus wordlessly sticking his head in the room every few cycles to check on him. It was much less invasive than basically _hovering_ nearby to make sure he was resting, but this annoying spot checking had been the one-sided 'compromise' the captain had come up with after their recent _disagreement_. 

"At this point, I might just die to _spite_ you," he muttered, offlining his optics and folding his arms over his midsection. Sure, Megatron didn't _mean_ the words, but he'd long-since grown tired of this pointless bed rest. If he got up to at least do something at his desk, that would invite a scolding that he couldn't easily defend himself against. There was no _effective_ rhetorical weapon against utter _nonsense_ and whatever was driving Rodimus to be so damn protective of him.

Something light bounced off the side of his head the moment he finished speaking. _Childish brat_. That sort of behavior _ought_ to he beneath him at this point, especially since he had generally grown as a leader over the years. Though if Rodimus _stopped_ behaving impetuously towards _him_ , he would honestly start to be rather worried.

_Worried._

_Ah._

But why? That was harder to answer. Megatron chanced onlining one optic to glance at the door but by the time his sight had finished rebooting, all he could see was the closed door of his habsuite and the glitter of a new golden star on the floor.

* * *

Velocity at last had cleared Megatron for duty, after a couple of orns being restricted to what he deemed unnecessary bed rest. Of course, he didn’t think he really needed to be cleared, but he was not about to argue with Velocity about it. _She_ at least knew what she was doing. Not that he considered the situation serious in the least, especially since his symptoms had been _mild_ at worst. He’d sneezed occasionally, suffered from some difficulty intaking ventilations, and felt the need to recharge more than usual. _Hardly_ remarkable. Velocity had simply wanted to be sure given his poor immune response, so he’d obliged her despite his own opinions on the matter. Even his dear friend, now that he felt more comfortable in referring to the former lawbot that way, Ultra Magnus hadn’t been particularly worried for him, having visited to bring his sympathies and a cup of warmed fuel with a sweet lead additive specifically to assist with relaxing. 

It had only really been Rodimus who had seemed paranoid that the former warlord had been at death’s door from a mild case of the sniffles. He’d been the one to notice initially as well after Megatron had fallen asleep mid-shift in his chair on the bridge, drifting off mid-command about something or other. It had been a small miracle that the smaller mech had managed to drag him to the medical center. Rodimus had shaken him awake and in his co-captain’s groggy confusion, lead him by the wrist down the halls. What an absolute sight _that_ must have been.

Stepping back onto the bridge for the first time in what felt like _ages_ , he was immediately greeted with the sight of a petulant orange racer sitting cross-legged in _his_ chair. Rodimus barely spared him a contemptuous sidelong glance when the door opened.

“Oh, _good_ , you _didn’t_ die.” Was he pleased or not? The flat, nearly sarcastic tone told him ‘no’, but the bizarre attention he’d been subjected to the past couple of orns didn’t exactly square with this. Even the newest star that had been tossed at his head had been inscribed: ‘Didn’t die.’ Before Megatron could respond, Rodimus had already hopped out of the chair and skirted around him to pass through the door.

“I can _finally_ take my break.”

He raised a finger and opened his mouth to say _something_ , but nothing came out and by the time he almost managed something, Rodimus had long since disappeared around a corner.

It seemed to him that Rodimus was still upset with him. Why? 

It also seemed he was going to need some assistance.

* * *

“What do you think, Magnus? I have… the sneaking suspicion he doubts my commitment to the Council contract. Is he of the opinion I’m not taking it seriously?” After all, _both_ of their lives depended on it. Rodimus had offered himself up as collateral should anything go awry. No one’s survival had ever hinged on his own quite so directly before. Megatron could have thought of no other reason behind Rodimus’ insistence on checking on him, unless… perhaps even after so long he still didn’t trust the former warlord. Now he was on the receiving end of the cold shoulder and even more insolent snubbing at every possible opportunity. 

“I just don’t understand it—Thank you.” He took a sip from the spritzer that Magnus had ordered for him, something to keep their hands busy and to keep Swerve from pulling ‘paying customers only’ given their shared penchant for not really drinking engex or other high-grades. 

Ultra Magnus shifted uncomfortably in the booth across from him, clearly possessing _some_ knowledge. 

_This_ disposition was eerily similar to when he’d tried to wring information from his friend regarding the cascade of unnecessary Rodimus stars he’d been receiving since his release. Lately that had slowed down, save for the one tossed at his head the other orn. Possibly due to the fact that his desk drawer in the captain’s office was full or possibly due to the fact that Rodimus had simply changed his mind about whatever had motivated him to do that in the first place. At least now he wasn’t being showered in pointless rewards. Megatron raised an eyebrow plate at his companion in suspicion.

“He must be displeased with your progress.” Not this again.

“It cannot be _understated_ how _helpful_ you’re being.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of nose. _Take a breath. Stay calm. Magnus **is** our friend._ No matter how blatantly true it was, Megatron sometimes still felt the need to explicitly remind himself. “What progress _exactly?_ ”

“Alright, no offense, Captain, but this is _painful_ to witness.” He turned his head to see a red and white minibot standing at the side of the booth, a tray stacked full with empty glasses and cups from other tables.

“Excuse me?”

Swerve merely shrugged, miraculously not upsetting the delicate balancing act on his tray. “It’s plain to see for us, uh, experienced _feeling_ types, Captain.” It would have been so easy to take offense, but instead he leaned towards the bartender, head tilted attentively and one hand each on the back of the booth and the table itself. In his rush, he nearly knocked over the spritzer, which Magnus scrambled to stabilize with a hand stretched across the table.

“ _Yes?_ ”

“Swerve, don’t—” Ultra Magnus’ warning went unheeded. 

Swerve laughed warmly. “Rodimus is _completely_ head over heels for you. Somehow.”

“ _What?_ ” What the absolute _fuck_ did that mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: historically, lead, in the form of lead acetate, has been used as an artificial sweetener. Google it, it’s pretty interesting. _Do not eat lead._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the 'sickfic' portion has definitely petered out but the next two chapters don't warrant their own fic in the series.

“ _Rodimus is **completely** head over heels for you._”

Swerve had said nothing more after that downright _bizarre_ revelation. Seriously. What the hell was that? No matter what Megatron had said after that to get further clarification, he had received no answer as the minibot wandered off with his tray of empty flatware. The entire time, Ultra Magnus had sat there in the booth with his hands over his face. That had been presumably from the unbearable secondhand embarrassment of having had to witness the ship's bartender spill some not-so-carefully guarded beans.

Now... _now_ Megatron had no idea either what to make of this intelligence or what to do with it, if credible. It made no sense, not that much on this ship generally did. There were very few aboard who he would consider to be thoroughly rational, and sometimes, rarely, that number didn't include himself. Today seemed like one of those _exceptional_ days where a rational explanation escaped him, as he paced taut circles in his minuscule habsuite, one hand behind his back and the other on his chin in thought. 

The previous evening had seen him hastily escorted from the bar by a concerned Ultra Magnus before the captain could locate his dusty interrogation protocols and squeeze information out of a notoriously loose-lipped metallurgist-turned-mixologist. Sure, he could return now that some time has passed and Ultra Magnus was on bridge duty with... Rodimus. He was probably sitting there in Megatron’s chair, pretending he owned it instead of sitting in his own damn chair that was more appropriately sized for his smaller frame.

_Fragile._ Where’d that thought come from? He shook his head to banish it.

At least he couldn’t get into too much trouble under Ultra Magnus’ watchful gaze. Though more accurately it would simply be much more difficult for the miscreant to enact some scheme or cause some ruckus because he got too bored. That mech was an accident looking for a place to happen. The thought of Rodimus hurting himself doing something stupid made his spark tense and spin with more fervor.

_All the same,_ he thought, pausing in front of the shelf of random treasures that car-shaped corvid had brought him since his release, _why?_ A striated, sedimentary rock caught his eye first, sitting on the shelf among the others and devoid of dust through his meticulous tidying. Not that he had much by way of space or possessions to tidy. A few other knickknacks had been scrounged up by his co-captain over time and added to the collection. A crystal of quartz from a glittering cave on some twilight world. A captured image of a dramatic waterfall. An asymmetric hunk of petrified wood smuggled from Earth via questionable markets sometime before the war ended. A ceramic bowl-shaped thing from a howling town. A little blue decorative cubic steel doodad with intricate geometric designs from... somewhere. Even squinting at it, he couldn't quite remember. Hedonia probably. Perhaps his… _august_ memory was beginning to fail on some details…. Yet he never failed to recollect the beaming face proffering each item to him. None of these things would have he have chosen for himself, but somehow, something about these brick-a-brack inspired his co-captain to bring them back like a young dragon with an unusual horde. 

All of these trinkets were to remind him of the outside since Megatron was now confined to the inside of this damned ship until he finally offlined. _What an odd sentiment_ , he thought, gaze passing over each of the objects in turn. Of course he missed the outside, feeling penned in like some kind of animal. But why did Rodimus _care_? He'd even gone through the trouble of having Perceptor and Brainstorm assemble a room with holomatter projectors just to let him experience simulated outside environments. What was the point? Was it guilt at dragging Megatron from the well-deserved grave he'd thrown himself in? 

That made no sense. 

Each of these gifts, at least after the catastrophic misunderstanding surrounding the first, had been brought to him with such an exuberant spirit of joy. They’d been handed over with a smile buoyed by the knowledge that the offering would, without hesitation, join an eclectic collection of others simply by virtue of their presenter’s identity. Why did he even _accept_ these baubles? Surely, he told himself, it was simply easier to keep Rodimus happy by accepting them. There was likely no harm in them after all and a happy command staff meant a more cooperative command staff. That’s why he’d agreed to let Drift teach him a little yoga after all, to ease the third-in-command’s nerves. It was no different than accepting the deluge of Rodimus stars that the fool had poured upon him for the first several months after he’d been released into this flying cage.

The aged captain couldn’t find a reason for all of the fuss, unless… _No_. 

He picked up one of them items, the piece of quartz, and turned it over in his hand, letting the artificial lights catch in its various facets. A trick of physics to reveal the myriad colors hidden in the light itself. Simple. A flashy parlor trick for the naive and ignorant. 

_Flashy._

_Beautiful._

Megatron caught himself smiling, an uncharacteristically easy grin at the sight of the bright stripes of color the prism refracted like fire across the expanse of his hand. At the realization, he forced a frown, an embarrassing attempt at returning his expression to a relatively neutral state, even though no one could see him in the privacy of his room. Why the hell would he be smiling? Just at the thought of a vague similarity between the vibrant vision on his palm and a certain motorcar— _Absurd. **Asinine** even._ How dare his chassis feel warm at such a ludicrous, _inappropriate_ thought.

Swerve had to be making things up. Bars thrived on gossip after all and one on a relatively isolated ship would crave such _nonsense_ all the more. Stirring things up would be a logical publicity stunt. It would bring in more business for anyone eager to swap their own banal theories. _But why **this**? Shock value perhaps. How distasteful._

At least, there was a very straightforward way to clear this stupid situation up and finally put the rumors to bed. Or so he believed. Still holding the crystal of quartz snugly in his palm, he reached over to activate the comm-link in his wrist.

“Magnus, could you tell Rodimus to meet me in the holomatter room in 10 minutes? Tell him it’s _urgent_.”


	4. Chapter 4

Checking his internal chronometer, Megatron stood in the holomatter room, impatiently tapping his foot on the floor and idly turning over a small object in his palms. Twenty minutes ago was the requested meeting time. Then again, Rodimus did always have a habit of being late. The younger mech also hadn’t explicitly agreed to come. It had been an order and one that strictly, Rodimus didn’t _have_ to follow given their more-or-less equal rank. He hadn’t even received any confirmation beyond the fact that Ultra Magnus had sent a comm indicating Rodimus had left the bridge. Yet here, here with no promises of arrival, the aged mech stood waiting.

The door slid open with a loud _clack_ and high-pitched grind, like someone hadn’t bothered to wait for the automatic door mechanism. One of these days Rodimus was going to break every door on this damned ship. “You’re la—” Megatron hastily clenched a hand, hiding the object he’d been holding from view.

“Reporting for duty,” the speedster began, scrunching up his nose before adding a mock-disdainful “ _Captain_.” Megatron could only wonder how Rodimus managed to fit so much concentrated sarcasm in his lithe little body. Though before he could think about it too hard, Rodimus gestured around the room with his arms, spinning on a heel. “What’s with the blank room? You have a whole room to project whatever make-believe thing you want, then you call me here for something and you… left it _blank._ Fuckin’ _blank._ ”

The metal walls and floor were indeed devoid of any decoration. Furthermore due to the projector technology, the room didn’t even contain windows. For all intents and purposes, it was little more than a large box when not in use.

“I called you here because it would be _quiet._ ” And the likelihood of being interrupted by business was relatively low. Even if the room was available to everyone on the ship, most didn’t bother with it except for special occasions or when prescribed as treatment for cabin fever. Even if not explicitly stated, it was generally understood that this room was intended for their confined captain’s sanity and morale… and that it was a gift. That generally gave him the run of the place and he felt no need to activate the projectors this time. What even would be appropriate for the occasion? What kind of occasion even was this? It was just a _discussion_ , that would likely rapidly devolve into a lecture Rodimus would promptly tune out until he felt like he could leave.

With a huff, still clearly rather displeased with him, Rodimus stomped his way to stand just a few yards in front of his counterpart, just out of reach. He melodramatically threw his arms out to the side. Megatron wondered idly why his gaze closely followed the motion. Surely because his companion was squirrelly. Did the speedster have any idea _why_ he'd been called here exactly?

“Well. I’m here. What is it? I got bridge duty.”

“Don’t start. You _hate_ bridge duty.” Which is why on shift rotations, they always made sure at least one other member of command staff would be on the bridge with Rodimus at a time. Not because he performed poorly, no, but because he remained focused better with company and support beyond just the crew.

He held up a hand, one finger extended. Something was still clutched in his palm though it wouldn’t be visible to Rodimus the way his remaining fingers kept closed over it.

“There’s something we need to talk about.” He hated having this sorts of discussions, where it was necessary to address _feelings_ or the implications that someone has them. They made everyone involved uncomfortable and he always left them feeling rather like a heel even if he had been _obviously_ in the right. _Like usual._

Rodimus shifted his weight uneasily on his feet, like he could sense that this was about to be incredibly awkward but also unavoidable. Though some of that contempt he'd been carrying in his stance disappeared with the shift. Why? Perhaps he was finally tired of his foolish little grudge. It would be right on schedule anyway. He generally only held them towards Megatron for about five orns at the most when he was _really_ upset. Three was more usual and it was just coming up on the third one in the next few cycles. Or maybe he'd been tipped off by Ultra Magnus about what Swerve has blurted out.

"Alright. Hit me." He paused, raising a palm as he second-guessed his word choice for once. "With _information._ Don't actually—"

Megatron lifted both hands and held them out defensively, or as defensively as he could with one holding something. "We both know I would _never_ strike you—" Not that there weren't rare moments of temptation. "—and, frankly, I'm _offended_ at the implication." He sighed and shook his head, not willing to wander off into the weeds with this topic, especially given that in _this_ universe, his pacifism was still new. Such a discussion could easily distract them from his original purpose.

"The issue _at hand_ is that your _childish_ behavior lately has caused some... concerning rumors to surface."

“So for now we’re going to set the part where _you’re wrong and a jerk_ over there—” Rodimus swiftly indicated a random spot off to the side with both arms, hiking his shoulders up in the process. With anyone else, that would be a promise to talk about the discarded subject later. With Rodimus, that was a sign that it would likely be forgotten. Megatron knew by now, after trial and error, that wasn't something the younger mech could actually help. “Now what rumors?”

Now, how to phrase it? Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose with his unoccupied hand and took a deep ventilation. It was going to be awkward and embarrassing no matter how it came out of his face so he figured he might as well get it over with. No matter what, they would be able to manage some sort of professional relationship. Given the nature of his release contract and the fact that Rodimus held himself up collateral—like a brave idiot—they had no choice.

He cleared his throat, looking at the floor and keeping his hand on his face. It was scarcely conceivable that _these_ were words he had to say.

“It… has come to my attention that some… members of the crew believe you _non-platonic_ feelings towards me.”

There was no answer. Silence from Rodimus generally indicated a _problem_. Megatron tentatively removed his hand from his face to look at his companion, an attempt to gauge the situation. The younger captain stood there, stock still, face frozen somewhere between surprise and offense. Surely offense at the sheer notion that he might have some inappropriate interest.

“Now, of course, I know it’s _ridiculous_.” He waved his palms in front of himself, sweeping the idea to the side dismissively. “I don’t put any stock in—”

“You. Are. An. _Idiot_.”

“—such nonsense— _Excuse me?_ ” Megatron drew back, smacking an affronted palm to his chest.

Rodimus stood, a scant few yards away, tense and looking more than a little… murderous. Not terribly unlike the time Megatron had accidentally eaten the snack his co-captain has squirreled away for later. His feet were apart, elbows bent, spoiler fins taut, and hands clenched into fists. Ready to pounce.

“Don’t you understand? You’re _alive_! You’re always trying to be a _martyr_!” They hadn’t even been talking about _that_ , about how Rodimus seemed to think Megatron was constantly at death’s door, on purpose or accidentally. Was that still bothering the younger mech? A fear simmering away in his spark, not fully addressed. Rodimus threw his arms into the air over his head in exasperation, palms now splayed flat. “Why do you have to be so _stubborn_? Why are you being this _stupid?_ I—”

Rodimus could be blunt but something here he obviously didn't feel like he could say directly. As though _that_ was the line he couldn't cross.

 _At last._ At last he _understood_.

“… Swerve was accurate,” he interrupted, slapping a palm to his face to mitigate the fact that he now felt like the biggest idiot on the boat, including poor Riptide. _That’s_ why Rodimus put himself between Megatron and the Galactic Council and pulled him from his self-destructive panic bubble on the battlefield. That’s why he panicked when he got the slightest bit ill. That’s why he got upset when Megatron seemed to treat his own life as disposable. That’s why he went through all of the trouble to bring his co-captain bits and baubles and have this holomatter room engineered for _him_.

And the idea of it all _terrified_ him.

He felt a twinge in his chest just before he felt his spark spin at a dizzying pace.

Was _this_ what it was like to be _loved_?

“What are you talking about? You _never_ listen to me!”

The weight of the object shifting in his dominant hand brought his attention back to it. With it came a wide-eyed realization… and an _idea._ And a regret that he hadn't actually set the projectors to something more thematically _appropriate_.

“… _Rodimus_ , come here.” That came out more quietly than he intended. Still, he beckoned the fuming mech over with an easy wave of his down-turned palm.

Silence. His co-captain had frozen, mid-tirade, arms still extended. Though now genuine surprise had softened the upbraiding scowl.

 _“Please.”struggle_. This was _not_. “I have something to show you.”

Cautiously, Rodimus lowered his arms and crossed the last few steps to close the gap between them. The caution, likely not because Megatron was a threat, was more probably because he had to restrain himself from simply leaping on the much larger mech and giving him a good shake to vent frustration. That was his best guess as to Rodimus’ thought process at any rate. Strange how the air felt significantly warmer when the other mech came closer. That was _probably_ just because of how hot the doofus tended to run and no other reason at all.

Once within range, he slowly held out his fist towards Rodimus and hesitantly unfolded the fingers. Sat across the center of his palm was the crystal of quartz, glittering asymmetric bands of color from the less-than-up-to-snuff lights in this particular room. Some bulbs needed to be replaced, but it was a happy accident that they could be used to show off the little rock.

“Hey, I gave you that—” Rodimus squinted, leaning over the palm slightly as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, this random trinket now of all times. The fins of his spoiler had tilted high, something that usually indicated either offense or curiosity. Maybe both. Perhaps he was affronted at the implication that Megatron was giving it back, something he certainly had no intentions of doing. Truthfully, he hadn’t meant to bring the quartz with him. It had simply still been in his hand and in his haste to sort out the ‘problem,’ he had neglected to set it back on his shelf. _How serendipitous._

The bright glittering colors that danced against the dark background of his hand reminded him of how Rodimus could light up a room and lift a dour mood with little more than his _mere presence_.

All the times he too had felt protective over high-strung speedster and Megatron had told himself, lied to himself, that it was simply professional concern. He’d worried over accidentally dropping him with Rodimus kept jumping into his arms or onto his back like an idiot to give him something thing or another, as though Megatron were some kind of walking jungle gym. He’d hauled his garishly-painted co-captain to the medbay at the first signs of trouble when Rodimus had overheated on the bridge due to poor maintenance. He’d… recklessly risked _both_ of their lives to find him after Rodimus had been captured in an ambush. All because the very _thought_ of his foolhardy companion not coming back had been a worse burden to bear than the potential alternative. Even in a passing thought, the idea still caused his spark to sink.

Flashes of orange or red in the periphery of his vision would remind Megatron of the firebrand who ran this ship with him. Whenever he’d wavered on the ethics of his decisions, the right and the wrong, he’d thought of his co-captain. This accident looking for a place to happen was _his_ conscience. Little reminders of this doofus awaited around every corner and had he only _just now_ noticed?

Was _this_ what it was like to _love_?

With another moment’s hesitation that felt like an eternity, he finally opened his mouth.

“I looked upon the _refulgence_ of the sun and at once found myself thereby _enraptured._ ”

“That’s both incredibly sweet and incredibly embarrassing.” It also wasn’t that good but he’d been put on the spot and partially banking on Rodimus’ lack of familiarity with what made good poetry. A warm, yellow hand suddenly covered the crystal in his palm, out of place against his black paint. All traces of fury had melted away, leaving only a warm, affectionate smirk on a stark-white faceplate. “Look, you didn’t have to try that hard.”

“ _Oh._ ” A humiliating chill settled in his spine for a brief moment before it was torn away.

He was abruptly made aware of how near to his wrist that foreign, yet familiar hand was by a tapping fingertip.

Yet another abrupt mood shift thanks to Rodimus' impulsive 'leap before you look' nature. Surely he couldn't be implying—

“Wanna go back to my place?”

_“What?!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finished the main part of the series! Yay!


End file.
